Slightly Belated
by Pikeru's Angel
Summary: It started with open-leaf green tea. Honestly, how did you think it started? Shohn :D


**A/N: Happy belated birthday Sherlock Holmes! Sorry I didn't get it on the day. -_-' Woops.**

{][][}

They'd been dating for six months, been engaged for six days, and John still didn't know Sherlock's birthday.

Oh, Sherlock knew his. Of course he did, the little prat. God knew how, but he found out John's birthday. Nothing big done, as was usual Sherlock style, but they did go to Angelo's that night. They even got the damn candle at their table. And Sherlock got him that new suit he'd been eyeing when they passed the shops. It was… nice.

But that didn't change the fact that John didn't know. He did, however, have the feeling that it was coming up. So he got two gifts when he went Christmas shopping, just in case.

So he twitched on the sixth as the card came in the mail. From Sherlock's mother, no less, with the cheerful happy birthday sticker keeping it held closed.

To the very least he had something.

{][][}

Sherlock woke up blearily that day. John was already out of bed, which was odd because unless he had to go to work he'd stay and cuddle (because that's just what John _did_, and he'd gotten used to it eventually). But he was gone. He wasn't on call; he usually tried not to be. They didn't need to get the shopping, so there didn't seem to be any reason.

"Get down here Sherlock!" He heard John call. "I made breakfast!"

That snapped the detective out of his sleep-addled haze. Not only had John gotten out of bed early, he was cooking. Willingly. For something other than dinner. This was getting strange.

"Coming!' He said back, stumbling over the bed sheets as he shot for the door. John had made them breakfast a total of three times in their entire relationship, not including times when Sherlock was sick. The first was on their one-month actual anniversary, and john had been euphoric with the fact that Sherlock had even kissed him in the first place. The second had been after their engagement. The third was right then.

He glared as he thumped down at the table (which had been cleared), watching John buzz around. There was a smear of pancake batter in his blond hair, and he was wearing the grey jumped that he'd said had been his father's. It hung off his muscular frame, and Sherlock's glare softened. Honestly, no one could stay mad with how cute he looked right then.

_Did I just think that john's cute?_ Sherlock thought, brow furrowing as the steaming plate of pancakes and bacon was placed before him along with a steaming cup of the new open-leaf green tea he'd just bought. John went through the trouble of making open leaf? He hated making open leaf, no matter what the occasion. So why did he?

John smiled at him, taking his customary seat and running a hand through his hair, adding another streak of batter to it. "Morning, Sherlock."

"You made my tea." Sherlock responded, dumbfounded.

"Yes," the blond replied slowly. "I made your breakfast too."

"You made my open-leaf green tea that you hate." Replied the younger, blinking down at his mug. "Why?"

A shrug, and John placed a quickly wrapped box on the table. "I thought it would be nice on your birthday."

"It's not my birthday." Sherlock said, glancing. "It's the seventh, so it's not."

John frowned, slumping slightly. He cursed quietly. "How far off am I?" He asked with a groan. Sherlock cocked his head to one side.

"It was yesterday." He said, taking a sip of his tea. "Why is this bothering you? I never told you because I don't celebrate my birthday, haven't since I was four. I have no intentions of doing so. It's just another day." He shrugged.

"But it's your thirtieth birthday!" John said by way of argument. "Do you know how big that is?"

"Obviously not." Was the still confused reply. "What does it matter? It's one year closer to an immanent death. I don't care, I've never cared, and I have no intentions of caring in the future."

"You took me out to dinner at Angelo's on my birthday two days after we started dating." A sigh, and John gagged on his tea. "I don't know how you stand this stuff, it's horrid. Anyway, I'm a bit upset that I'm not doing your birthday on your actual birthday!"

"Why do you care though?" Sherlock finally burst, hands raised in a frustrated manner.

And for a moment, all was silent.

John stared at his boyfriend, completely shocked. Mouth agape and eyes practically bulging out his head with batter in his hair he almost looked comical. Sherlock just stared right back, a light red tingeing pale cheeks. Clearly, he didn't understand. There was the telltale cock oh his head to the right. John just couldn't believe it. How could this brilliant man in front of him not know why he cared? What the hell kind of screwed up childhood would he come from to where he honestly _did not know _why someone would care about his birthday?

Blinking, John answered after several minutes of pure quiet, the only noise a light rain on the window. "I-I care because I love you." He said, slowly, like he had when explaining why he was so insistent on exchanging gifts on Christmas. "I would care even if we I didn't, if we'd never gotten together. I care because today -yesterday- was the day that you and all your brilliance came onto this god-forsaken planet of ours and without you… Without you I wouldn't be living. Not really." He slid over the box, shaking his head and smiling that smile he did whenever Sherlock did something truly amazing. "Open your damn belated birthday gift.

Slowly, Sherlock picked it up. He shook the somewhat large box, curious. It didn't make a sound, which meant it was either some sort of clothing or something that wouldn't need a box. But that meant it naturally retained the rectangular shape, so it was probably a book of some sort…

"Open it!" John interrupted, bouncing a bit in his seat. Sherlock chuckled, ripping open the packaging and the box inside.

"Huh." He said, taking it out.

The it in question was a scarf. Hand knitted, but not by someone who was selling them commercially. There were too many little mistakes for that. It was a light blue with small jagged strips of grey. He glanced up at John, then back at the scarf.

"Do you like it?" John asked nervously, twiddling his hands in his lap.

"Love it."


End file.
